


Back to the Beginning

by lifelongpotterhead



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dimension Travel, Gore, Time Travel, Torture, alternate universe kinda, everyone dies, everyone seems like a dick but i swear its not ooc i have explanations, have i tagged adequately, i will kill everything you love, lots of death, lots of pain, mod!hermione, reposted from fanfiction.net, so much gore, there is an apocalypse, there will be a prequel for this eventually, this was my first fic ever, yes i know its weird
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-31 03:22:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6453385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifelongpotterhead/pseuds/lifelongpotterhead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a confrontation with Voldemort, the Master of Death (the Angel of Death) finds themselves 100 years in the past, in 1977. After enrolling at Hogwarts to gather information, how will the MoD survive in a pre-war Britain? What will they choose to change? And will they even be able to change anything?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Harry Potter is not mine, I am not JK Rowling. This is my first fan fiction, please rate and review! Note- The Angel of Death has several different names. The name that they are listed as while you are reading it is based on the glamour they have on at the time and what their current name is. I also had this idea that she has the ability to speak tons of different languages. I do not know any other languages, so if she is speaking in another language the dialogue will be italicized and I will state which language she is speaking in. She may also change languages in the middle of her sentences.

The cloaked figure strolled through the battlefield, stepping over the bloodied bodies of fallen soldiers. Onyx wings stretched out from the figure's back, dripping with crimson blood. The sound of bones being crushed under the figure’s combat boots echoed through the empty plain. They paused to loot the body of a fallen Death Eater, collecting a few wands and some food from the unrecognizable corpse. The figure laughed in a guttural fashion that resonated unnaturally among the dead bodies. The figure removed the mask covering the Death Eater’s face, smirking at the horrid fate of the person. They waved their hand, and the corpse lit on fire, a bright beacon in the black night. The person continued this process on many of the bodies, before sighing and burning the entire plain.

The figure moved their feathered wings, rising off of the ground. They flew over to the nearest town, full of crumbling buildings. Rivers of blood flowed down the streets. The figure flicked their wrist, and waited for the spell to signify signs of life in the broken city. The spell did nothing, and they shook their head as though expecting those results. They opened the door of the nearest house, before stepping inside. There was a crater in the roof, and shattered glass littered the floor. They scanned the house, their gaze resting on the body of a young child. The figure conjured a ball of light, and noticed an expression full of pain and agony on the young girl’s face. The girl looked terrified, and appeared to have been tortured to death. More bodies littered the floor in the next room. The figure strode out the door they had come through, flying out of the town again. They came to a rest in a forest with a pensive expression on their face; they seemed to be waiting for something.

There was suddenly a sound of leaves being crushed and branches being snapped a few feet away from the figure. They jumped up, smirking as a pale man with snake-like features sauntered towards them.

“Tom Riddle. I have been waiting for you all night.” The winged figure rasped in a cold voice. “I see you and your Death Eaters have been busy. This battle has destroyed the last town in Spain. There is nothing left of Europe. There is also nothing left of your Death Eaters, you will see that I have killed them all.”

“You are nothing but a menace,” sneered Tom, “A menace that must be destroyed. I do not tolerate rebellion under my rule. You will regret your actions, pitiful as they may be. You shall die in vain; your rebellion shall perish with you.”

“Do you not think that there is a reason that I have survived so long?” The black-clad individual whispered as Tom raised his wand, “A reason that I stand before you, while your entire army has just been massacred? A reason that I am the last one to oppose you, while every other magical being has been slaughtered? A reason that I have been the one to single-handedly annihilate your entire army while they hunted me?” They asked, as Tom paled, the smirk disappearing from his face. “I am the Angel of Death, Tom Riddle. I am a bringer of death and destruction. And yet, I was once a wizard. A wizard who hated you and opposed everything you stood for. My view has not changed, now that I work with Death.”

Tom’s expression hardened. “I am not afraid of you. I am Voldemort! I cannot be killed. I have never heard of an angel of death, you are just stalling. I cannot be killed by someone as pathetic as you.”

“Avada Kedavra!”

The Angel of Death simply held out its blood stained hand and the spell went soaring in another direction. “You are so naive Tom Riddle. You think I have not learned your tricks, and how to evade them? I have been fighting you for decades, with different names and different allies.” The figure stepped to the side as a few more green bolts of light flew towards where they were standing.

“Do you really want to fight me, Tom Riddle?” The Angel of Death goaded, as they conjured a ball of flames in one hand and held out the other palm, ready to cast deadly spells. Tom’s expression turned to one of apprehension.

The Angel of Death threw their ball of flames, igniting their surroundings. They then wordlessly and wandlessly casted a deadly-looking green and purple spell, stepping closer to Tom as they did so. Tom simultaneously casted another Avada Kedavra, ducking his head to avoid the spells flying towards him. The spells collided, and Tom went flying back a few hundred yards from the force of the impact.

The Angel of Death had been standing much closer to the collision of the spells. They jumped to the side, trying to avoid any effects of the explosion. The Angel of Death looked up just as the spells hit each other. The impact resulted in a wave of heat and white light washing over everything momentarily. A small object suddenly appeared in their line of vision, golden and shaped like an hourglass. Their eyes followed the object as the white light hit into the hourglass, their expression turning to one of befuddlement, and a moment later intense anger.

“Time.” They seethed as the hourglass shattered upon touching the light. Golden sand blew onto the angel’s face from the shattered hourglass, suddenly glowing as though it had been touched by the sun’s rays. A moment later the Angel of Death disappeared, leaving an unconscious Tom Riddle slumped against a tree in the dark and lifeless forest, sure to wake with a vengeance and confusion over the scorched path of earth where the angel had been standing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wait, do italics work on ao3? I have entire sections in here that are italicized flashbacks... I don't know how to use this website...

The Angel of Death came back to consciousness in the middle of a bright forest. She jumped up, preparing to defend herself from any Death Eaters that she assumed were attacking her, as she remembered that she had not put up any wards previous to her impromptu bout of unconsciousness. She thought back to what had happened before she blacked out as she realized that there was no one in the immediate vicinity. She remembered her confrontation with the last remaining Death Eaters, and the tortured faces on bloodied corpses. She thought back to her most recent battle with Voldemort, and the explosion from the collision of a few types of spells. The Angel of Death’s mind was racing, she tried to think of anything strange or different from the previous night that would leave her stranded and passed out in the forest. She gasped, remembering the flash of gold that was the last thing she saw. She knew what it was, she had seen it so many times before. It had been a time turner.

The Angel of Death knew that she had to be in another time period. Flicking her wrist, she casted a tempus so she would know what time period she was in. She assumed she had been transported about a year back, the rural corner of Spain that she had fought her most recent battle in had not been touched by the war until a few months before. She looked up at the time and date that her spell had showed her, and sliced her hand with a knife to try to gain some feeling back in her numb body. The date was July 1st, 1977.

"She fucking sent me 100 years in the past! I am going to have words with Time and Fate!" She shrieked hysterically in Russian, watching the blood drip down her arm with stark disinterest. She took a few deep breaths, strengthening her Occlumency shields before allowing her thoughts to progress any farther. “Why would Time send me back to before the war! Why did Fate authorize this! I didn’t do anything to piss either of them off recently, unless they were somehow offended by the fact that I slaughtered the last of the Death Eaters.” She seethed, trying once again to calm down. This time, she sent a large quantity of magic into the nearest tree, shattering it and sending pieces of bark flying. The Angel of Death finally calmed down enough to think rationally. 

“Thinking with your heart gets you nowhere,” she reminded herself, attempting to think of a course of action. She switched to Spanish, “First I must get intel on my situation. I have to read up on the first Wizarding War of Britain, I also have to figure out who the major players in this war were and when each event happened. As far as I know, all of the operations of this war were centered around the United Kingdom, I do not have to be concerned with forming alliances with people in other countries and on other continents.” She mused to herself, contemplating what she should do based on her current information. 

She casted a few spells to ensure that her information would be private and protected from any passers by with a flick of her hand, and conjured a notebook and a pen. She labeled the notebook Wizarding War of Britain 1. Flipping over to the first page, she wrote timeline, and on the next few pages wrote Casualties. She summoned all of her books and notes about the first war, and wrote down as much information about it as she could. She knew that that the war was already reaching its height; gone were the days of Tom’s political speeches and rants. Now was the time that the Death Eaters were starting to attack. On the casualties page, she wrote the Bones family, Fabian and Gideon Prewett, Dorcas Meadowes, the McKinnons, Caradoc Dearborn, Benjy Fenwick, and Regulus Black. She was not sure of the exact dates of their deaths, or why she was even bothering to write the information down. As far as she knew, Time did not approve of time paradoxes, nor did Fate. They just created a lot of extra paperwork and a hassle for Time, as she had to figure out how to transfer some of the time sand from the hourglass of the universe that the person was originally from to a new hourglass, and it always ended up being a mess. The Angel of Death had no inkling as to why she was so far in the past, but figured it was safer to be prepared to form a time paradox.

That train of thought brought her to her to the next part of her plan. She knew that while she was here it would be best to be in the place she could gather the most information, and possibly obtain an explanation as to why she was here. She needed to be in the center of the war. All of her thoughts suddenly ground to a screeching halt with one thought: Hogwarts.

It was suddenly obvious what she had to do. She had to infiltrate Hogwarts, gain actual information, and figure out where to go from there. She would have to play it by ear from there, and although she was plenty used to doing that in the war, it usually involved killing people. She frowned, she would have to work on controlling her reactions if she wanted to get anywhere near other people. First, she had to persuade Dumbledore to allow her to go to Hogwarts.

She gathered her things and disillusioned herself. She then silently apparated to Dumbledore’s office. She suppressed her magical signature, as she did not want Dumbledore to detect her presence. She found further evidence that her boss was not on her side; Dumbledore was not in his office. She conjured up a chair and disillusioned it, before sitting down to wait for the headmaster to make an appearance. While waiting, the Angel of Death contemplated what had just happened to her in the recent hours. She was an entire century in the past, and had already came up with a strategy after being in the time period for mere minutes. She almost made an audible sound, and quickly casted silencing charms. She knew that the portraits were listening.

She had just began to think about how she had not seen the office in about seven decades, when Dumbledore ambled into the office. She quickly banished the chair she had been sitting in, and jumped to her feet with catlike grace. She silently crouched into a position that gave her decent access to Dumbledore’s head, and pointed her finger at him. Obliviate, she thought, propelling her magic out of her body. She concentrated on warping Dumbledore’s memories, barely registering the green light that hit Dumbledore. She implanted the idea in his head that she was to be a new student in seventh year, and that she had been raised by muggles and never sent to a magical school. She made him think that she had been aware of her magical ability, and although she never told anyone about it, she had taught herself to control it. She figured that it would explain how she casted wordless and wandless magic. She influenced Dumbledore to make him think that she had enrolled at Hogwarts after her parents had died, and that the reason her name was not on the magical registry was because she was born in Russia and moved many times afterwards. That would explain the fact that she spoke so many languages in case something slipped, and also why she was just joining school now. 

She quickly thought of an alias that she could go by. She decided to make her first name Hermione, as it was her birthname and the name she had carried until she used code names in the wars, and long before she became the Master of Death and took to calling herself the Angel of Death to scare enemies. She finally chose Thomas as her surname after some careful deliberation, because it would show that she was clearly a muggleborn while being common enough that no one would be suspicious and connect her with the Hermione Granger of the future, or so she hoped. 

She withdrew from Dumbledore’s mind, keeping her Occlumency shields up in case of a sudden attack, and disapparated from his office. Hermione had faith in her memory charm, but was not sure it would hold up against someone as powerful as Dumbledore. 

Hermione found herself back in the woods in Spain that she had recently departed from. Before going anywhere, she had to change her appearance. The first thing that she had to get rid of was her wings. Even though they were part of her animagus transformation that she simply chose not to fully transform out of, and even though they allowed her to choose the name Angel of Death and terrify her opponents, they simply would not make sense to have if she was going to masquerade as a normal person. For the first time in a few years, she allowed herself to fully transform back to her human form. It felt strangely disappointing, as though she was losing a part of herself. She also had to get rid of her silver gloves that coated her hands. She had been using them as extra protection during her constant battles with werewolves, as she had grown used to poisoning any Death Eater werewolves when they got close enough to harm her. She banished the gloves to her bag, feeling strangely naked without them. She took off her cloak to change her facial appearance. She transfigured a rock into a mirror and cringed. Her bushy hair had been cut and hacked to pieces in random areas during the war, and had even been shaved away in spots from spells she had taken to the head. Hermione had not looked at herself in a mirror in years, and hardly recognized her reflection. Her eyes were sunken and lifeless, the brown duller and haunted-looking. Her cheeks were gaunt from the years of eating very little and training very hard. Her face was covered in scars as well. There was a large scar stretching from her forehead to her chin, and she shivered when she remembered how close it had come to blinding her.  
Hermione and Ginny had been the last two fighting for the ‘light’ side of the war. Hermione was dueling a large hoard of Death Eaters, her sword flicking through the group, striking them down with conviction. She was using her other hand to throw up wandless shields, and was occasionally throwing spells at the murderous crowd. Ginny fought beside her, her two wands moving with incredible speed, Death Eaters falling under her avalanche of spells. Hermione let down her shield and ducked under an organ-exploding curse, and noticed the face of the Death Eater was the face of Dolohov, the one who had killed Ron. She threw herself back into the battle with a renewed vigor, slicing limbs off of Death Eaters, her maroon cloak becoming soaked with blood. She fought her way towards Dolohov, smiling wolfishly as she evaded his spells, her adrenalin and bloodlust allowing her to stab faster. She finally stabbed his abdomen, crying out in triumph as he screamed in anguish, his blood covering the last clean spots of the sword of Gryffindor in a dark red sheen.

Just she jerked the sword out of Dolohov, she heard Ginny cry out, “Embers! Behind you!” Hermione turned around, realizing she was farther away from Ginny than she had thought. Ginny was holding out fine on her own, her magic lashing out and striking the Death Eaters dead, but Hermione was completely surrounded. She swung the sword again and again, but the enemies kept advancing, seemingly infinite in number. Her shields began to flicker and die out, she still had trouble with her wandless magic.

“PROTEGO MAXIMA!” She shouted out, but nothing happened. She tried to summon her magic, but the spells the death Eaters were throwing were starting to hit their target. She grimaced as a diffindo clipped her arm, her blood gushing out of the wound. “Help Ashes! I cannot hold out much longer!” She shouted at Ginny, the Death Eaters closing in on her, and she watched as another diffindo soared towards her face, too fast for her to avoid it. Her shields had stopped working, and she knew that it was the end. There were too many Death Eaters, Ashes would be slaughtered on her own. Hermione regretted her bloodlust, regretted seeking revenge, and the spell crashed into her face. She felt blood dripping into her eyes; she could no longer see. Another spell hit into her, she didn’t know what it was, but she heard a loud cracking sound and knew no more.

She awoke with Ashes leaning over her, the Death Eaters that they had been fighting reduced to skeletons and ashes. Her head was throbbing, and she could not see out of her left eye.

“What happened Ashes? How are we alive?” She asked, not comprehending the situation.

“I transformed.” The redhead stated simply, pushing the hood of her blood-red cloak off of her head, “I obliterated those assholes. They hit you with a bone breaking curse in the head, your skull was shattered and you’ll have that nasty scar down your face for the rest of your life.” Her face was grim, her mouth drawn into a taut line. “You almost didn’t make it, I couldn’t lose you, I can’t do this on my own. I thought they had killed you, I just snapped.” Ashes whispered. “And don’t fight with your heart, that’s how you get yourself fucking killed! I thought you knew that!” She all but shouted, her face reddening. Hermione thought it was ironic, the hothead of their fighting group, reminding her not to do what Ashes always did. The hypocrite. She then sobered up, that was why Claws and Dead-eye had died. She made a silent promise then to never fight with her heart on her sleeve.

Hermione shook herself out of the memory, focusing on her scarred face once more. She noticed that there was almost no area on her face not marked by battlescars. Sighing, Hermione waved her hand next to her face. Focusing her magic, she casted glamours on herself. By the time she was finished, her hair was blond, straight, and fell to her shoulders. Her face was more pointed and scar free, her haunted eyes now a deep blue. She frowned at the unfamiliar face in the mirror; she looked almost like a Malfoy. She knew she would have to remind herself to reapply her glamour every day, as it would be disastrous if she slipped and forgot. She jotted a reminder down in her notebook, as she remembered her clothes. Her leggings and black tee-shirt that she wore under her cloak to be flexible for battle would never fit in during the 1970’s. She transfigured them into bell-bottoms and a blouse, hoping she could just go to the wizarding world and change into robes, before remembering that her alias was a muggleborn and would not be going to Diagon Alley and changing into robes, she would be staying in a muggle place and be wearing muggle fashion. 

She also put on a glamour that would make her look more like a 17 year old, because if she planned to infiltrate Hogwarts as a student then she would have to look like one. She packed the last of her things back into her bag and disapparated to a dark alley in downtown London. Hermione knew that she could easily rent an apartment in London for the time being. She cautiously strode out onto the sidewalk, keeping her eyes peeled for anyone suspicious looking, her magic ready to incapacitate and kill at a moment’s notice. She walked around London until she came upon an apartment with a sign that said it was available for rent. She didn’t actually need a place to stay, and would have been fine staying in the woods without one, but she knew that she needed an address for her Hogwarts letter. She apparated to the real estate agency and confounded the muggles there, convincing them that she had a lease for the apartment, and apparated back to it. She set up wards and alarms that would alert her to any presence or owls at her new apartment, before sitting on the floor and meditating. She knew that she would have to work on her occlumency shields and controlling her murderous reactions before going out in public and trying to integrate herself back into society. She had a lot of work to do. 

Hermione cursed her bosses, Fate and Time, as she got up from her long meditation. It had done absolutely nothing to curb her homicidal tendencies, and while her occlumency barriers were strong as ever, it wouldn’t help her control herself to the point of pretending to be a normal person. Getting exasperated, she conjured a dummy and threw her knives at it, stabbed at it with her sword, and even decapitated it with a boomerang with French blades attached to it that she often used when she was facing a lot of enemies. It returned to her hand, and she smirked, thinking of the genius way that Ashes had attached some of her blades to a boomerang after visiting both Australia and France, and collaborating with wizards there. It was a very deadly weapon, and was surpassed only by bombs and fire when facing a large army. It was also the best choice to use against a huge group of enemies in close quarters, or if she did not have the energy to create a shield that would prevent a bomb or fiendfyre from killing her own troops. Hermione hacked at the dummy until she was no longer angry at her bosses, before finally sending a large burst of magic at it and obliterating it. 

She supposed that she might be able to tolerate muggle London now that she had taken the edge off of her rage and hatred. Hermione hoped that if she tried to attack a muggle that she would be conscious enough to rein in her magic in before causing any fatalities. She wandered out of her apartment, making her way to the supermarket a few blocks away. She had not gotten any more food for a while, and was living off of the food she had left in her bag under preservation charms. She needed more supplies.

Hermione managed to buy her food without murdering anyone, and apparated back to her flat. She conjured a chair, sitting down and taking out a long book about war strategies. It had once been Claws’ strong point, but now that he was gone it was up to Hermione to come up with battle plans. She read anxiously, biding her time before receiving her Hogwarts letter in the muggle world. She was not sure what she would do afterwards, but she would need to think of a strategy. Burying herself back in the book, she attempted to ignore her time travel issue for a few moments.

She did not appreciate her bosses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am assuming that you are all confused about who Ashes, Embers, Dead-eye, and Claws are. These are the animagus names of Ginny, Hermione, Harry, and Ron. I had this idea that they were a group who fought together to try to defeat Voldemort, which is actually how I came up with the idea for this story. I am sure you can guess what their forms are. I am definetly going to expand on this later and include flashbacks, so hopefully you will understand the progression from canon to this point eventually. I will explain within the next two chapters. 
> 
> So, Hermione now had more aliases. Hermione Granger, Embers, the Angel of Death, and Hermione Thomas. All of these disguises have a different look, if I refer to her with a specific name it is because she appears to be that person in the moment. 
> 
> I had this weird idea that while the group was fighting Voldemort, they travelled all over the world, commanding and working with wizards everywhere. Hermione learned styles of fighting from different cultures. She spoke in Russian at the start of this chapter, because they worked with a lot of Russians. (I do not speak Russian, I don’t know why I had this random idea)
> 
> She got an apartment in this chapter. I am not old enough to get an apartment, nor do I live in England, so I just kind of wrote something and skipped over that part because I know nothing about it. I am sorry for including that. 
> 
> As you can probably tell, Hermione is a very violent person. In case this seems OOC for you, as it may be, she lost everything in the war. She lost everyone and everything she ever loved, she was alone, and she was the only one who knew how to defeat Voldemort. (Like I said, there will be a further explanation of how she became a murderer in later chapters.)
> 
> So… This is my first ever fanfiction. I know it is no where near as good as most fanfics out there, but could you please rate and review? (Also if you want me to write about anything specific in the next chapter, I will. It will be about the month before she gets her letter and can claim to know about Diagon Alley and such, and I don’t really know what I want to do for this one chapter specifically. My plans for this story always end up skipping this chapter when I write it in my head...


	3. Chapter 3

A few hours later, Hermione finally allowed herself to put the book down, and return her thoughts to the reality of her situation. She knew that she had to understand why she was in the past in order to come up with a concrete plan. Hermione tried to think back to anything that she might have done to piss off Fate or Time to make them want to send her to the past. 

She had never really done anything specifically to anger her superiors, but they still resented her, as she was a few millennia younger than all of the other immortal beings and had once been mortal. It also seemed very unlikely that they would send her back to the past just because they were angry with her. Although, she considered, it wasn’t so far fetched that they would send her through time just to screw with her. Fate had virtually sent her to hell and back, killing everyone she loved and making her be captured and tortured by death eaters multiple times. It was in her best interests to consider that Fate may have sent her through time to spite her. 

Hermione also realized that there could have been a practical reason for Fate to send her through time. After all, Tom had killed about 6 billion people during his rule, so it was unlikely that the human population would last much longer while the wizarding world refused to tell the muggles or try to help kill Voldemort. There was always a chance that Fate or Time actually wanted her to create a time paradox to prevent the horrors that the wars had caused. After all, Fate had screwed up a lot by allowing Tom’s rule to continue. Hermione suspected that Death had asked Fate to keep Tom around, just to see what had happened, and Fate had screwed up. It was not as though Fate would ever admit to screwing up, so she probably would send Hermione to the past just to fix Fate’s screw up. Hermione threw a blasting curse at the floor in her anger, screeching at the unfairness of it all. Her boss felt as though they never had to be responsible for their screw ups, and Hermione had to pay the price.

Hermione then had an epiphany so sudden that she jumped out of her chair. That was it. She had to create a time paradox. It was so obvious! Or was it? There were so many consequences to creating time paradoxes. She was effectively in another universe at this point, and there was no way that she would ever be able to return to her home universe, not that she really wanted to. The second that she changed something, she was no longer in her own universe, and her mere arrival was a major change. Hermione had yet to be born, so it was impossible to still be in the same universe as she had been. It was also impossible for her to see her past self, so at least she would not be driving herself to madness and creating a strange paradox in which she existed twice at the same time. She had had enough experience with that when she used the time turner in her third year, and she did not understand very much about her time travel except for the fact that she created numerous paradoxes and was never in the universes in which she did not use the time turner, as evidenced by the escape of Sirius Black on that fateful night all those years ago. 

Hermione smirked. If in fact she was supposed to create a paradox, she would have to actually test it out. Fate probably would not answer her if she called, as the bitch enjoyed making Hermione dwell in her misery as she failed to figure things out. At least she had not written down all of those names for nothing. She would have to start figuring out all of the dates and exact details of what happened in the war so she would know what to change. Hermione figured she could also use it as an opportunity to discover if there really was any truth to the ripple effect theory, in which the mere act of traveling through time changed events. The theory stated that the further back you travelled the more changes there would be and the bigger the changes there would be, so it would be a perfect situation for studying time travel. 

Hermione silently disillusioned herself and apparated to Diagon Alley. She could easily test out the parallel universe theory and effects by doing something small, but she would be able to figure out a plan faster by killing someone. It may or may not have been a good plan, as any lack of accuracy in the theories of parallel universes and ripple effects could have disastrous consequences. She grimaced, as she was beginning to doubt her unformed plan. She had definitely spent too much of her life around irrational Gryffindors who jumped into things without planning. 

She took a defensive stance as she appeared in a street full of people. She nearly sent spells and weapons flying the second she landed, as she had not seen a place this busy and full of noise in at least three decades. The war had affected everyone, and the general world population was too terrified to leave their homes or shop. The muggles stopped leaving their homes as well, so there was little to no activity when she hid out in the muggle cities and villages either. 

She watched the crowds of people go by. Most of them were walking hurriedly, but they were still talking and laughing, actions that seemed foreign to Hermione’s ears. She watched the faces go by with amusement and caution, searching for the perfect target. She did not remember what anyone’s face looked like, so she felt almost overwhelmed with the thought of needing to pick someone to kill without knowing how it could affect the future. Hermione tried to swallow her anxiety and searched even harder for a face she could kill without ruining anything. Her gaze wandered over the people, before she saw something that made anger bubble in her throat and her magic make her skin tingle. She saw the face of a man that she hated more than most. Peter Pettigrew. 

Hermione was swamped with the overwhelming desire to set him on fire, to watching him burn as she cruciated the life out of him, watching his face contort in agony in his final moments. 

Claws ran side by side with Embers, their wands raised in defense towards the hoard of Death Eaters chasing them. Claws kept the sword of Gryffindor in his right hand, the venom-coated blade ready to kill any Death Eater that dared to get close enough to harm either of them. Embers casted a few killing curses, watching them bring down some of the werewolves that had nearly killed her during her last stay at Malfoy Manor. Her anger ruled her actions, her vision tinged with red as she saw the face of Greyback. The monster had raped her over and over the last time she had been tortured, and her mind was still afflicted with the psychological scars of her attack. She stopped thinking.

She grabbed the sword from Claws and ran towards Greyback, not caring about the consequences. She ducked under spells and curses, deflecting more still with her sword. She grasped her wand tightly in her hand, but ignored it. It was virtually useless to her in such a battle, as she was completely surrounded and taking the time to cast a single spell would be her downfall. Embers swung the sword, taking down a row of Death Eaters, even though she had barely grazed some of them. The Basilisk venom still worked after all of those years. Embers was getting closer to Greyback, swinging and stabbing her way through the mob of enemies, when she heard the feral cry of a dying animal. Embers gasped as she turned her head slightly, watching the auburn lion fighting the people behind her take a cutting curse to the stomach, blood splattering out of the wound, staining the ground a dark crimson colors. 

“Claws!” Embers shouted, as the lion turned back into a man in a blood-red cloak, his hood falling back just in time for her to see a mop of red hair adorning a face twisted in a grimace of pain and shock, just as a green curse hit him in the torso. Embers caught her breath; she hoped he was still alive but knew in her heart he was dead. The Golden Quartet, the last Marauders, the Voldermort Vanquishers were down to three. Embers felt a hollow pain fill her chest. So many people had died already. The Weaselys. Minerva. Albus. All of the teachers and students of Hogwarts. The British Ministry had fallen, and all of the allies of the light had been killed. The epidemic of death as beginning to spread to other countries, their Russian and Japanese allies had already begun to fall. 

And now it was down to three. Embers was sure that some of their other allies were still alive, future allies, but there was no one left in Britain. There were only British Death Eaters left now. Even the muggles were starting to be killed, their British population diminishing. Voldemort ruled Britain at that point, his influence spreading through the rest of the world, the sick corruption leaking into other governments and people. 

Embers thought all this as she changed course, running towards the spot that Claws’ body had fallen. She did not even know how she was still alive, how she was avoiding the spells. Her adrenaline kept her moving, hooking her sword into the Death Eaters to propel her forward. She somehow reached his body alive, and glanced at the stunned expression on his face, as though he had never seen death coming. Embers pivoted, her expression cold and murderous. She stared down the Death Eater closest to Claws’ body, and instinctively knew that that was the one who had killed Claws. Embers raised her wand instead of Claw’s sword-no, her sword.

“CRUCIO!” She screamed, pouring all of her hatred and anger into the spell. She watched the mask fell off of the man, his face contorted in agony. Screams were torn out of the man’s throat, and Embers knew that she had never heard any sound so horrific or bloodcurdling before. And she had caused that suffering. Before, she might have been shocked at her actions, but she just smirked at the pain she was causing.

She suddenly recognized the face of the man, even with the horrifying expression on his face. It was Peter Pettigrew.

“You have lived long enough, Pettigrew,” she hissed, her voice filled with malice. She ended the cruciatus curse, instead sending fiendfyre at him. She watched in amusement as his body crumpled to ashes in the flames. She noticed that all of the Death Eaters seemed to have paused in their advance, as though somehow shocked that someone from the ‘light’ had tortured a man and killed him without hesitation. 

She turned her deadly stare towards the others. She willed her magic into the flames, trying to control them, even though she had only tried once before. She tilted her chin and the flames followed; every single Death Eater became a pile of ash. Embers turned her vision back to the red-headed corpse beside her. She knew that she had to get back to Dead Eye and Ashes, so she shrunk the body, blood, guts, and all. She levitated the small corpse into her bag. She almost started running, but realized she did not know where the others were. She transformed into a phoenix, with bright red and yellow plumage. She was about to take off, but for a moment she peered at her large wings. She cried out in shock, her feet rooted to the ground. Her wings were no longer the bright, flawless red crimson and gold that they had been before. The feathers were now spiraled with onyx. 

Phoenixes were meant to be pure creatures, full of light and goodness, with little malice in them. Embers had been like that at the start of the war. She had only started killing after Minerva was killed, and only out of intense grief or when it was the only way out. But her last torture session had changed her. She had just murdered an entire group of people in the most painful way possible out of spite and anger. She was no longer a pure, good phoenix. She was corrupt, the darkness leaking into her soul. It showed on her wings. She was no longer a phoenix. She was a broken person, so broken that she had lost all of her morals. 

Embers flew over to where the others were and finished the battle. That night, she wept for the first time in years. She could not afford to cry on the battlefield, to show weakness. Emotions led to death during battle, as she had once again proved. Embers remembered that she had once been Hermione, once had a childhood, once had not suffered loss. So she wept. She wept for the ones she had lost. She wept for the ones who had lost their lives. She wept for the ones who had lost their innocence. She wept for the suffering Ashes and Dead Eye had gone through. She wept for the deaths they had been forced to live through. And most of all, she wept for the three of them, and the fact the lives that they had sacrificed, the innocence that they had lost. 

Hermione had not wept since. 

Hermione suppressed the anger bubbling in her chest. She knew that a major player in turning the tide of the war towards the dark, and subsequently the light for a little while, would not be a good person to test her ability to change the past on. Nevertheless, her palms let out a burst of fiendfyre, and she knew that her control was fading. Her magic remembered torturing Pettegrew, and was evidently eager to repeat the process that had led her down the path of corruption. She immediately reinforced her occlumency shields and took a few deep breaths. She had warded her area so that the rest of the people in the alley would not notice her presence, but she did not trust her magic to hold up any sort of spell under so much emotional strain. Hermione shut her eyes tightly, and when she opened them, the young Pettigrew was gone. 

She breathed a sigh of relief; she could not have restrained her magic for much longer. She went back to scanning all of the terrified faces of the wizards. Hermione knew that she had to pick someone who was a major player in the war, major enough that they had caused something that would be extremely noticeable if it did not happen, but also some one minor, whose absence could be easily remedied by her if something went wrong. 

Hermione sat in Diagon Alley for hours, looking for the perfect victim and contemplating which person it would be smartest to kill strategy-wise. She lowered her head into her hands with a groan. She couldn’t think of anyone to kill. There was absolutely no one who was both significant and insignificant. She was also trying to avoid killing anyone on the light side, anyone who had ever spied for the light, or anyone who had benefitted the light in some way. That left only Death Eaters, but none of them had had enough of an impact that she knew of.

Hermione screamed, thankful that she had thought to put up silencing wards. There was almost no way to test her theory without unforeseen consequences. She had realized that she would most likely have to play it by ear hours ago, but a part of her did not want to admit that she was going into the unknown completely unprepared for what lied ahead. Hermione yelled out several vulgar curses directed towards Fate and Time, cursing them for not just fixing whatever their latest issue was themselves and forcing her to do it, without even telling her anything.

She was about to apparate back to her flat, but figured it would be good for her to get used to walking among people again, so that she would not kill anyone when she went to Hogwarts. She started milling around, marvelling at the shops. Everything was still standing, there were no burn marks or piles of ruins and ashes anywhere. She saw Madam Malkin's, still a small shop with very little business. Then again, very few shops had any business. It was only July, and with the war going on, few people actually left their homes to go shopping. The only people were students doing some early school shopping. The street was very quiet, considering that it was a public place, and was very popular with wizards of all ages. She continued walking, amazed at the changes from her own time. She hardly even remembered this Alley, it did not exist in 2077. Hermione glanced at the ground, recalling the blood-stained bricks that had been the only remaining part of Diagon Alley. Even the bodies had been burned away, after being put on display for the sobbing fathers and he distraught siblings to see. 

She had remembered seeing Percy’s glazed eyes and blood-spattered face on his cold body. George had just stared at the corpse with an empty expression on his face, as the second Weasely sibling to die. The others had similar expressions. Most people were beyond the point of crying. Hermione sighed. The other Weasleys had fallen shortly afterwards. Bill and Charlie had both perished aiding the Golden quartet, and had put up an amazing fight.

Hermione kept walking, shaking her head to forget the haunting images. The past was the past, and now the future. She walked so quickly that she nearly collided with a few people, jumping back and ready to attack each one. She was glad that she did not remove her wards. She was not ready, not yet. She spotted Ollivanders and smiled the first real smile she had in decades, thinking about her childhood, but her face hastily fell, as she thought about the burned carcass of the shop, the wands gone. Hermione felt a single tear trace down her cheek, and she wiped it away immediately. She would never be able to see anything in the past without seeing the broken husk it would become in the future, the blood, the bodies, the fighting. What she wouldn’t give to have died at the start of the Wizarding World War, or the WWW, like the rest of the muggleborns. 

She apparated back to her new flat, and destroyed every inch of the place with her weapons and magic to free herself of the emotions. After venting her destructive feelings, she simply waved her hand a few times, and most of the pieces came flying back into place, the holes in the walls and floor healing. What she could not fix, she covered with a glamour. She would be long gone by the time anyone noticed, as she would only have the flat until she went to Hogwarts. 

A few days later, Hermione had settled into a routine. She would go to Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade and practice not killing everyone on sight, before going back to her flat and practicing her occlumency, studying the timelines, or practicing with her weapons and magic. She knew she had to be prepared, as Fate was a bitch and would probably make every part of Hermione’s time in the past hell for her. She tested herself in the wizarding areas, eventually forcing herself to remove the wards and walk around like everyone else.

She still came back every night and mutilated her flat. Hermione was not good at testing her nerves; she felt as though she was going to end up burning Hogsmeade to the ground by accident. And yet, she kept up her game. For the month until July 31, she practiced reigning in her nerves and keeping her cool among other people. She finally felt a little more comfortable. Maybe she would even find a way to prevent her magic from blowing up Hogwarts.


	4. Chapter 4

Hermione arose at three in the morning in the early hours of July 31st, after a night of fitful sleep due to nightmares. They had seemed to be getting worse after visiting some of the wizarding areas in a time before they were wrought with death and reeked of burned flesh, a time before the homes of the innocent were painted with blood and were haunted by the tortured screams of the dead. 

She stared out the window, knowing that she should receive confirmation on her acceptance to Hogwarts via owl that day. She was riddled with anxiety, as she had not been back to Hogwarts and was afraid of the memories of that place and of everything that she had tried to run from during the war. Hermione was not prepared to go back to go back to that place, no matter how often she tried to convince herself that she was ready to see the walls of Hogwarts again, her childhood marred in her memory. 

Hermione knew that the owl would probably not arrive for a few hours, but she didn’t really have anything to do until it came. She also had no desire to get lost in her memories, so she contented herself by putting in a last-ditch effort to repair the flat that she had destroyed and burned time and time again. She sighed, knowing that she had a long day of planning ahead of her once she got to Hogwarts, having done none at all during the course of the summer. She still was unsure what Fate wanted her to do, if she was supposed to change anything or not. 

The owl finally came around five in the morning, startling her by knocking on the window. After apologizing for nearly setting the owl’s tail on fire, she sent it on its way. Hermione opened the letter with a mixture of childish glee and apprehension, a combination of feelings that she had not experienced in years. The list stated that she needed all of the standard robes and textbooks, among other things, for all of the seventh years. It was not a very important list to her, as she could conjure all of the items on the list or transfigure something else into robes. She was still having difficulty comprehending the fact that her plan had actually worked up until that point, although something was bound to go wrong soon. Her brief feeling of nostalgia and elation quickly turned into a befuddlement. So her plan had actually worked. She had spent so long attempting to figure out what she would do if something went wrong in her plan, that she never bothered to consider what would happen if the plan worked flawlessly. Damned Fate. Always making her prepare for events that never happened. She was always the epitome of Murphy’s Law, and of course Fate just had to change that up when she was beginning to understand how to deal with her constant misfortune. 

Hermione decided to just go along with whatever happened next. Now that she had actually obtained her letter, she would be able to get on the train and enter Hogwarts. She could get re-sorted, and come up with the next steps of her plan from there. Yes, her plan might finally work. Up until September first, she would just continue with her wanderings in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade. Actually, she could just rent a room in Diagon Alley, as she no longer had to stay in her flat to wait for her letter. After all, she had to practice interacting with the magical community. She packed all of her things into her bag with the undetectable extension charm on it and apparated to Diagon Alley. 

Diagon Alley was actually quite deserted. She walked up to the Leaky Cauldron, fully expecting it to be just as empty as the rest of the street, but it was actually packed with patrons. A lot of them looked very shady, and she figured that a bunch of them were Death Eaters. Hermione walked past them, as it was too loud for her to pick up on individual conversations to eavesdrop. 

“Hello,” she spoke to Tom, “Can I rent a room here?”

“Yes, we have a room upstairs.” He replied.

Hermione followed Tom to the second floor of the bar and paid him her fee for staying there. She left immediately, wandering around the alley without her cloak or disillusioning charms. She still wanted to attack everyone, so she knew that she needed practice. Just a month, just a month, she repeated to herself as she sauntered around in the shops and down the barren street. 

Hermione suddenly felt as though she was being watched. Her instincts begged her to turn around and blow up the section of the street that she thought the presence was coming from with every fiber of her being, but the rational part of her brain forced her to keep walking. Of course someone was probably watching her, she was the only one in middle of the alley after all. She heard the person get closer to her, and she tried to strengthen her resolve, as she would be faced with that constantly at Hogwarts. She actually slowed her pace, knowing that she would look suspicious if she walked faster. 

Hermione suddenly ducked, not quite knowing why until she saw a green spell fly over her head. She should have known to trust her instincts; she hadn’t spent decades fine-tuning them for nothing. Hermione rolled to the side and threw her own killing curses towards the direction of the spells. She wasn’t sure if they made contact, so she casted fiendfyre. The area was set ablaze, burning everything on that section of the street. Whoever had just tried to kill her was dead. Hermione probably should have been at least slightly concerned that someone had just attempted to kill her, but she was at the entrance of Knockturn Alley and was the only one there. There was the chance that it was part of the ripple effect caused by her arrival, something causing the Death Eaters to become more vicious than they normally were during this time period. Then again, she did not know very much about the first Wizarding War of Britain, and for all she knew the Death Eaters of the time period killed random people in the street like they did during her time. Someone was bound to have watched her set her attackers on fire, so Hermione assumed she would be a target of Voldemort if her attackers were in fact Death Eaters. Well, she had been looking for Murphy’s Law to happen. If anything could go wrong in her plan, it definitely would. Hermione was screwed.

She jogged back to the Leaky Cauldron, contemplating her bad luck. She had hoped to avoid being a Death Eater target until she at least was already at Hogwarts. She hoped that the fact that she was probably wanted by the Death Eaters would not reach the ears of the purebloods and other Death Eater spawn at Hogwarts.

Well, one good thing had come out of that. Fate had proved that she was just as unpredictable as Hermione had thought, and she had just killed what was probably a low-level Death Eater if Fate was indeed acting like normal. Hermione had never looked forward to Hogwarts as much as she did at that moment.


	5. Chapter 5

Hermione apparated to King’s Cross under a disillusionment charm on the morning of September first. She walked through the wall that led to platform 9 and ¾, weaving through the crowds of muggles. She spotted several children in robes with owls. Honestly, if they cared so much about the Statute of Secrecy, why would they make it so obvious that they were wizards? Hermione did not understand that at all, but then again the wizarding world was run by a bunch of idiots who liked to pretend that it was still the Dark Ages.

Hermione was glad that she had been practicing being in public places, or she probably would have blown up the train station accidently, she considered as she stepped onto the platform. 

The first thing that she did when she heard all of the yelling people was hit the floor, her instincts telling her that they were a threat. Thankfully she was still invisible; she wasn’t sure she would be able to explain away violently falling on her face when she walked through the platform. Chiding herself and her instincts, she stood and dropped the disillusionment charm. She quickly strode onto a random train compartment, as she was sure that she could not possibly gain any intel in such a busy place. She took on the guise of being fast asleep, wondering if she could possibly overhear something that would help her figure out if what to do. 

Hermione sensed someone enter the compartment and tensed automatically, before forcing herself to relax. It wasn’t as though she was likely to be attacked on the train.

The moment that she forced herself to relax, she heard something that made her tense up again. 

“So Moony, did you come up with any good pranks over the summer? Prongs and I have a whole bunch.” 

“Yeah, I spent a while thinking about it,” responded another voice.

Hermione began to think of all of the ways she could harm Fate; her boss really was a bitch. Hermione hoped that her boss would let her pull off the sleeping mime so she could avoid talking to the boys, although she assumed that her wishful thinking would just amuse Fate. 

“Hey Padfoot, there is someone else in here. She looks much older than a first year, but I have never seen her before.”

“Should we wake her up?” replied another boy, who she assumed was Sirius based on the sound of his voice.

“No,let’s go find another compartment,” responded one of the others.

As they left, Hermione let out a sigh of relief, which quickly turned into anxiety. Fate had just let her avoid a confrontation that could have ended very badly for her since she was not entirely prepared to have a conversation with people from her past. With Fate, that generally meant that something bad was about to happen to her. There was no luck, no good fortune when it came to dealing with Fate, at least not for Hermione. Fate was playing her; it was as though she had made it her life goal to cause Hermione as much pain as possible. Unfortunately, Hermione had no way of knowing when her next wave of misfortune would hit.

She spent the rest of the train ride contemplating what misery fate would inflict on her next, when she noticed that the train was slowing down. She heard Hagrid calling her name with the first years when she strolled out of the train compartment, so she walked over to the boats with the first years. She would have to be with them to be sorted, she knew. 

Hermione nearly gasped out loud when she saw Hogwarts. It was her home away from home, and although tarnished in her memories, was in perfect condition in the 1970’s. The castle looked like the embodiment of safety, but she would not be able to let her guard down just because she was at Hogwarts. If anything, she mused, she would have to watch her back a lot more carefully at Hogwarts if that surprise attack in Diagon Alley was anything to go by. 

When the first years were standing in the hall waiting to be sorted, Hermione casted a slight notice-me-not charm on herself to avoid being interrogated by the younger children. She eavesdropped on their conversations, but picked up no intel on the situation with Voldemort. She shouldn’t have expected anything, but she had learned to keep constant vigilance the hard way in the war.

The kids all screamed at the entry of the ghosts, and the sorting hat sang a typical song about uniting the houses. It sounded almost exactly like the one she had heard in school about the encroaching war, and she knew that no one would ever bother taking it seriously or even pay attention. 

The sorting hat began to call out names, to which Hermione only partially listened to. She did not recognize any of the names, so her interest was rather half-hearted. Instead she bided her time considering which house might be the most strategical to have the hat place her in. She knew that many of her future allies would be in Gryffindor, and if she ever decided to help prepare people for the war that would probably be where she would find willing troops. Hufflepuff was also an option, as she could keep out conflict that way and have an easier time picking up pieces of information as an inconspicuous Hufflepuff. Unfortunately, they were a very friendly house, and more likely than not they would never leave her to herself. As a person who had spent decades killing people in war, that would probably be a very foolish idea. Her musings were suddenly interrupted when Dumbledore started speaking.

“Hello and welcome back! We have one more student to sort; she is a transfer in seventh year. Thomas, Hermione!”

For the second time in her life, Hermione approached the sorting hat to be sorted. She was still filled with apprehension and anxiety, albeit for a different reason. She placed the sorting hat on her head; it fit much better than it had when she was a first year. 

“Well look at this!” the hat said spoke, “I never thought I would see a time traveler-and a master of death a that!”

Hermione instinctively clamped down on her occlumency shields, her brain desperately attempting to defend itself. “There is no need to do that. Occlumency does not work on me anyhow.”

“So where should I go? I did not finish weighing the options, as I only realized that I could have some say in this until moments ago. I was thinking that Ravenclaw might actually be the best, as it could explain the fact that I know so much if I happen to slip up, and I would not be forced into friendships that could expose my secrets. I could also be quite inconspicuous, as their is no house rivalry there and I could be forgotten quickly and stay in the shadows to gather intel.”

“Well,” the sorting hat replied, “I am still obligated to sort you based on where you belong, less so from your personal preference. I can see why you would want to go into Ravenclaw, and you are very driven, but as of late I can see that you only really read and learn when it will provide you with an advantage. This is more of a Slytherin quality. You are not passionate enough about learning any longer to be able to pass as a student. I am also unsure as to why you would want to stay on the sidelines after all of the trouble you went through to get here to gather information.”

“I-I suppose maybe not Ravenclaw then, but why not Gryffindor? I have been there once before.”

“In Gryffindor, you would probably be badgered constantly about your past, and one way or another they would work it out of you. Do you not remember your own attitude as a student here? If you went there, you would also be forced to be near people whose faces remind you intimately of your past. There is so much opportunity for disaster in that case. While it is possible that you could train them to be soldiers, you are going into seventh year and it is unlikely that they will trust you, especially if you let them see you doing wandless magic, fighting, or talking about your past accidently. Gryffindor would not be a very wise choice.”

“Okay, I do understand why you think that, but I am quite skilled at keeping secrets, and I would be able to coerce them into following me with a little magic, I am sure of it. I have also been there once before, I know how their minds generally work. There is no need to lecture me on that.”

“I still don’t think that Gryffindor would be a good idea. What I do think would be good for you, is Slytherin.”

“What! Are you serious! The faces of some of my greatest enemies are in that house, many of them are probably there at the moment! I am not going there.”

“I do not see why you wouldn’t. You seem to be the kind of person who would welcome getting close to their enemies, especially because you could gather information from them, whether you decide to use legilimency or not. The Slytherins are also not an inquisitive bunch; they may attempt to get you to talk about your past when they grow suspicious, but they would not ask you outright. You also posses many Slytherin qualities. Just the fact that you have deceived everyone, including Dumbledore, to get back to Hogwarts proves it. As Slytherin always said, the end justifies the means. You are the perfect embodiment of this saying, as I can see that there is virtually no one that you have not lied to, tortured, or used illegal means to gather information from. You are incredibly sneaky and ambitious, as proved by your constant use of magic to spy on people and your desire to change everything, whether or not your boss allows you to. Besides, I don’t think you really want to stay out of the Slytherin-vs-Everyone else conflict. If you actually are able to change things here, you will have to start with the segregation of Slytherins from day one, as they grow up isolated from everyone else and prone to bad influences from their house mates. This has created a very screwed up society here in magical Britain, especially because people in the Slytherin house twisted the man’s words into making everyone a prejudiced person. You have to start at the root of the issue, or else all of this is for naught.”

“Alright fine I suppose. You are going to get your way in this conversation no matter my objections. But wait! Fate is never going to let me change anything, which makes your entire speech redundant because therefore I have no reasons to go into the Slytherin house-”

“SLYTHERIN”

Hermione took the hat off of her head, silently fuming and cursing Fate and that stupid hat.


	6. Chapter 6

Hermione sat on the stool for a moment, immense anger overcoming her. She had not even been given the opportunity to explain herself and provide a counterargument! She finally stood and started to walk over to the Slytherin table, despising the hat and all it stood for. Honestly, did it really think that Fate would let her change anything? Then again, did Hermione think that Fate would let her change anything? 

These thoughts chased each other around her head, and after a few moments,she realized that there was no clapping, like there was for all of the other students. Instead, there was loud booing coming from the Gryffindor table. More specifically, the four Marauders were leading the other houses in screams of acrimony. Meanwhile, the Slytherins stayed silent, most of them looking at her with intense scrutiny. Hermione strode over to her table and attempted to block out the negative sounds being directed at her. After all, she had certainly been subject to worse hatred during the war. The angry noise did not faze her, yet she shivered when she was reminded that psychopaths comparable to Tom Riddle were subject to the same treatment from the rest of the school when sorted to Slytherin. Hatred could easily spawn here, leading to a corrupt society that looked down on muggles and muggleborns. Honestly, Hermione could not understand how no one seemed to realize how their idiotic actions could affect society so eminently. 

She sat at a spot at the Slytherin table, shooting an icy glare at the Gryffindors that often made her strongest enemies cower during the war. She caught Sirius’ gaze, and the commotion at the Gryffindor table quieted to a buzz, before stopping all together. Hermione smirked, before shaking hands with the person to her left.

“Regulus Black.” The boy nodded. 

“Hermione Thomas.” She greeted back, silently cursing her boss. Of course she had to sit next to Regulus on the first day. She wondered if Fate would ever offer her a break, or if she would curse her pawn to an eternity of bad luck. Either way, she was certainly screwed. Hermione turned to the person on her right. She obviously had to start building connections within her house, if she had any intention of changing anything. 

“Hello, I’m Hermione-” She cut off her sentence after seeing the boy’s face. It was Snape. Of course it was, it was not as though she expected anything less from her abhorrent boss. 

Snape had made her life a living hell as a student, along with the other Gryffindors, so of course the second person she would meet would be that vile man. Her pensive expression turned into a sneer, and she had to rein in her magic to prevent herself from turning Snape into a pile of ashes. She attempted to make her expression slightly more amicable, but doubted her success. Snape turned away from her, and she instead turned her attention to what Dumbledore was saying. It wasn’t anything important, not as though she felt the need to listen to the drivelling old fool anyway. 

A few moments after Dumbledore had finished speaking, Hermione was asked the question that she, quite honestly, should have been expecting. 

“What is your blood status?” demanded Regulus.

“I am a muggleborn.” Hermione responded coolly. 

At that statement, a bomb may as well have gone off. A large portion of the Slytherins near her jumped up and pointed their wands at her, glaring at her as though she was not worthy of sitting at their table. Hermione’s anger was gathering, as she had no use for people with blood prejudices, lest they were decaying bodies. “Oh, do you have a problem with that?” she stated, feigning innocence in her question. 

“Yeah, we do, you mudblood scum!” Shouted a boy a bit farther down the table. Hermione stood slowly, realizing that the entire Great Hall had fallen silent. 

“You really know nothing about the world, do you? You believe that you are so superior to me, as though having previous magical lineage makes you something special, something great. I have lived my entire life in a war zone, and you are no better than any no-maj. You are human, and you seem to think exactly the same way, believing you are better than everyone else, holding onto some false hope to boost your ego. You have no idea what it is to watch friends and family be slaughtered mercilessly by people who think you are dirt for being born, people who believe that your mere existence is revolting. Have you not heard of world war two? So many people held similar beliefs as you, that people of certain lineage should not be granted life, and in an attempt to ‘purify’ the human race killed eight million people who committed no wrongs. It is in your best interests to shut your mouths, as your pathetic beliefs only lead to genocide and hatred for no reason. You are no better than me, nor I better than you, so shut up!”

The entire Great Hall stared at her in shock, and no one seemed intent on moving at any time after her rant. Hermione threw herself down into her seat, hoping that her anger hadn’t cracked her facade or discarded her glamour. She had no intention of screaming at everyone, but had only spoken in an attempt to prevent her magic from lashing out. Hermione continued eating as though nothing would happened, foolishly hoping that if she could ignore the problem that she could avoid the consequences. Eventually, some of her new housemates commenced eating once more, but their eyes never left her. She supposed they were attempting to understand her, as she had claimed to be a muggle, and yet seemed to know quite a bit about the wizarding world and its beliefs. 

Hermione had just royally screwed up what fragments of her plan she had begun to formulate, as remaining inconspicuous would be virtually impossible after her tirade. She had also just alienated herself from most of the other students, since most of them were very anti-muggle in the 1970s as far as she knew. She supposed she would have to come up with a new plan, not that she had had a plan earlier. Sighing, Hermione began to wonder about possible strategies.

Hermione suddenly felt a presence behind her, and immediately whirled around, startling the people behind her. 

“Who even are you?” Asked one of the four boys, all of them looking at her oddly.

“Who wants to know?” She replied rudely, hoping to discourage the Gryffindors. Evidently they were very eager for answers, as her glare did not deter them.

“James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew. Who the hell are you?” James interrogated. 

“And why are you shouting, you disgusting Slytherin?” Added someone who she recognized as a young Sirius Black.

“As the headmaster stated, I am Hermione Thomas. I am merely shouting to enforce the fact that I refuse to be a victim of mindless prejudice to my housemates, and any other asshole who happens to think I am lesser because my parents were not wizards. And in case you were not aware, Black, the Slytherin house is the house of cunning and ambition, not the house of evil.” She stated coolly, attempting to get the ghosts of her past to leave her alone for the time being. The boys made no move to leave, and she desired little but to escape the questions that was she was sure to be forced to experience at the hands of the Gryffindors. Her magic apparated her to the Slytherin dorms with a loud crack, drawing the attention of every person in the hall.


	7. Chapter 7

The moment that Hermione’s feet touched the ground in the dorms, she realized she had made a mistake. She had gotten so caught up in defending herself against the side that she had been fighting for decades, she had not noticed the flare in her magic. Of course, the painfully familiar faces had not helped at all, as she had been too overwhelmed by memories of death and destruction that she was unable to keep her wits about her. 

After a few more moments of contemplating her mistake, Hermione began to look around the dorms. She had only seen the Slytherin dorms once, but they had been in ruins after a particularly bloody and gruesome battle. At this point in time, the dorms were quite nice. Coated in dark green and a brilliant shade of silver, each dorm was even larger than the Gryffindor dorms. There were several beds in what she assumed was the girl’s dormitory. Hermione wasn’t exactly sure how her magic knew where to apparate to; perhaps it was more in tune with her surroundings than she had previously thought. 

She wandered over to the bed furthest from the door, that would allow her to see whomever chose to enter, and began to place wards over it. Hermione had drilled the words constant vigilance into her head so many times, that she wasn’t sure she could find it in herself to be careless in sighting potential dangers. As she placed the wards, she realized that she would need to come up with a way to resolve her mistake. Not only did shouting a half-cocked rant about why it would be in everyone’s best interests to disregard blood status to those whom she wanted to make a good impression on make her a potential interest to everyone at Hogwarts, but she had essentially just blown any possible cover she could have maintained in about five seconds. Hermione was not quite sure as to what had caused her outburst, as she was sure that she had a lock on her emotions. Ah, but how old habits die hard. She had never been keen on repressing her anger in her youth, and some things never really changed, no matter how greatly the situation required it. 

She supposed that she would need to find a way to reconcile with the Marauders, as they could be potential allies in the future and all played a large part in the war. While she was here, she would most likely need to build relationships with the most important pawns of Fate at the time. Hermione would also need to find a way to get in both Snape and Regulus’ favor, although that would be virtually impossible after her rant, as they were both incredibly anti-muggle at this point in time. No, not impossible, merely improbable. She had planned on taking a more neutral stance, in order to expand her influence to both sides of the war, but that was unlikely to happen after her outburst. The ‘light’ side probably thought her a Death Eater spy, and the Death Eaters probably thought her not worthy of breathing the same oxygen. Anyone who took a neutral stance, or was a bystander in the conflict, probably thought her a woman to avoid. Either way, she had royally screwed up whatever semblance of a plan she had created. Not that she was surprised; Fate loved to throw wrenches in Hermione’s plans. 

Hermione settled on the bed to keep rest, hoping her wards would protect her while she slept. She drifted off to sleep with thoughts of treachery and rebellion.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hermione awoke in a cold sweat with a strangled scream on her lips. She had dreamed of horrid battles; she could still smell the acrid stench of burning flesh. She checked the time with a quick tempus; it was only one in the morning. She had gotten more sleep than normal, a few hours at least. Thinking that she might as well spend the next six or so hours doing something useful, she stalked out of the room, ignoring the sleeping Slytherins. They would take no notice of her, as she had layered her protective enchantments. 

While walking through the darkened common room, Hermione suddenly became quite thankful for the green and silver colors of the rooms. She did not think that she would be capable of dealing with the crimson of the Gryffindor rooms, reminding her all too pressing nightmares and memories. 

Quickly shaking off that thought, Hermione began to stroll towards the entrance of the castle. She desired to reacquaint herself with the grounds before deciding on future plans, as some part of her seemed to think that nostalgia would help her figure out who she should trust and who she should kill. It had been a great many years since these people had died, after all. Perhaps she could be reminded of her loyalties to each person if she could recall her childhood and the people of that time. 

Hermione paused once she reached the forbidden forest, not quite sure where she intended to go. Leaning back against a tree, she marvelled at the change in the grounds from her more recent memories. The blood had yet to soak the ground, the forest had yet to burn, and the haunting screams were yet to echo throughout the grounds.

Just then, a piercing howl cut through the air, cutting short her musings. Instead, she was reminded of her nights fighting the werewolves, casting shards of silver into monsters that ripped the men apart. The full moon, always complementary to these bloody encounters, raged full just then. 

Her silver sword already in hand, Hermione detected a large shape pouncing towards her, and swung. Her blade hit the target, ripping through flesh and bringing it to the ground with a scream of pain. She looked up briefly to seek out more wolves. But instead, saw something that looked far more akin to a deer. And was that a dog?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so some of you guys on fanfiction.net have brought up some concerns about this story and its plotline. The entities are something that I have seen in quite a few other stories, and I wanted to put my own spin on it. Yes, several of the entities are manipulative like Dumbledore, as one of you remarked, but I have only shown like two or three at the moment and I have not quite gone into detail about them. I do have plans to bring in a few of them as better characters later on in the story rather than abstract plot devices. Also, I honestly cannot recall if I want Hermione to be immortal or not. I have written and rewritten this story over and over in my head, but I am planning on explaining her status of mortality in a few chapters or something. (I currently have not decided how I should go about deciding that, but as of right now she does not know either, as wizards live long lives.) Also, I am sorry for the way I wrote about the students, but I figured that because of the war going on, I assumed people would be tense and on edge, as well as desperate to pick a side in the war. The pureblood Slytherins are mostly anti-muggle because of the fact that the other houses pretty much despise them and leave them with only others in their house for influence, and considering the amount of Slytherin purebloods in the inner circle at the time, I would assume that the anti-muggle mentality is quite common in that house. I am sorry if I made all of the other houses seem anti-muggle as well, but if I did it was only because I want the students to come off as scared of seeming too lenient to avoid becoming targets. I am going to attempt in the future to write the characters as wary of Hermione, as she is new and they never get transfer students in the canon universe as far as I know.


	8. Chapter 8

Hermione stared at her blade, crimson blood running down the silver, bubbling and turning a sickening black color. The creature she had stabbed continued to howl, and she watched it’s face contort in agony with a detached interest. It was a wolf evidently, and she knew enough of the signs to know the blood on her silver blade was that of a werewolf. It was not as though she hadn’t killed plenty. 

It was only a moment later that she recalled that she was not in her original time stream. She was back before the war ever happened, and she shouldn’t have a need to protect herself from the werewolves. So who was the wolf? After all, she was at Hogwarts, in 1977.

Hermione felt her face drain of blood as she realized that Remus Lupin, the werewolf, should be where she was at the very moment. The moment that the thought hit her, she went tumbling through the air, slamming back down after being hit by a very large and powerful force. Looking up, she saw a large, black dog. Of course, it had to be Sirius. The thought did not console her at all, as Sirius seemed quite intent on biting her head off.

“Stop it, Padfoot!” Hermione shouted, twisting her body to avoid the stab of his canines. She felt the dog’s weight increase and his body change until she was staring into the face of a very angry, very bloody Sirius Black.

“How the hell do you know who I am?” Sirius growled, his voice low and threatening. 

“I will explain in a moment. I need to asses the damage that I did.” Hermione pushed Sirius off of her, and easily escaped from under him, as he was frozen in shock. Ignoring James’ protests and screams, she sprinted over to the whimpering Remus, still in wolf form in the darkness. Wandlessly creating a ball of light over her head, she was able to see the wound. It was a horrid wound, the blade having sliced through the leg that would have been Remus’ right arm, nearly severing it, and slicing open a large section of his abdomen. Hermione muttered several curses in different languages, as with the silver blade she did not think she would be able to save him. The wound was just as black as the blood that coated her sword, and had a consistency closer to the polyjuice potion than blood.

She placed her hands just above the wound, attempting to channel her magic into it, as that sometimes worked when she was injured. Instead, her magic was the same dark shade as the sky, and Remus screamed the moment it touched his skin. It seemed to burn him, as it was foreign magic. She should have realized that the attempt would be futile. 

Hermione stared at her hands, now coated in the dark blood. She looked back at Remus, realizing that she had no inkling as to how to cure silver poisoning in werewolves. Nearly all of the wolves she had dealt with in her past were her enemies,as Tom had created an army of werewolves. The rest of them had died many decades previously, and the knowledge had never been discovered. Hermione stood, looking back at Remus with a resigned expression.

“I am sorry,” She spoke, her voice a whisper, “but there is nothing I can do. My blade was silver, and I know not how to fix this.”

Hermione immediately felt the press of three wand tips against her neck, but continued to stare straight ahead. She had failed. Any half-cocked plans that she had devised had failed, in worse ways than she dared to imagine. 

The screaming faces of both Sirius and James appeared in front of her, and she could feel Pettigrew digging his wand into her back. The Marauders that she could see appeared absolutely devastated, and angrier than many people she had seen in quite some time. The angriest always died the fastest. 

“DEATH EATER SCUM!” James shouted, “NASTY SLYTHERIN!” He continued to hurl insults at her, and she did nothing, intent on keeping her expression neutral. 

“Do you not want to spend time with your friend in his last moments?” She spoke in an undertone, her voice nearly wavering. 

“You're just going to run the second we turn our backs. You just killed our friend, and we have no idea who you are!” Sirius spat, his eyes cold, but shining with tears. 

“Yes, those are valid points, but I know death, and have seen it time and time again. It would be more useful to surround Moony with his friends at the time of his death, lest he believe he was abandoned in his last moments. I mean you no harm, and have no cause to run. It’s not as though I have anywhere to flee to.” 

“How do you know about Padfoot and Moony?” James whispered harshly, glaring at her. 

“Please, just go. I shall explain later.” Hermione spoke. She was hit with a perfectius totalus, ceasing her body movements. She allowed the spell to take hold of her body, although her magic protested. The boys ran towards Remus, crying out in screams of grief. 

She heard Moony’s whimpers slow to a stop, before ceasing entirely. Out of the corner of her eye, she witnessed a sudden movement. Focusing on the movement there, she realized it was a figure, and one that she recognized quite clearly. It was Death.


	9. Chapter 9

Hermione felt the magic of the stunning spell try to smother her, to cover her magic and prevent her from moving. The moment she laid eyes on Death, she let go of her hold on her own magic, allowing it to free her from the confines and sprint towards the shadowy figure that she knew all too well. The other Marauders may have been throwing curses at her, but she spared no attention to them, only focused on getting to Death, to stop Moony’s soul from being taken. 

“Death!” She growled, not even realizing what language she expressed her anger in. “What are you doing! You cannot take this soul, you will be messing with Time’s realm!” Death paused in their actions, the werewolf’s soul already calling to them.

“Angel of Death, you know that I must do my job. Fate actually gave me permission to take a different life in this universe, or I would have sent a reaper here.”

“No! You can’t take his soul! I c-can’t screw up everything this early, I can’t let anyone that I once cared about die this early! I need to fix things! I cannot just let the world to descend into chaos like it did the first time around! Please Death, please d-don’t.” She had begun screaming, her voice breaking during her rant. Hermione hadn’t let herself feel such emotion in a while, hadn’t let herself get so caught up in her memories in quite some time, and now Remus Lupin was going to pay for it with his life. 

“It isn’t quite too late, as you can see, he still has his soul. If you intend to save him, I suggest you act quickly, like the soldier you are, Embers.” Death spoke, stressing the last word. Hermione didn’t understand, her memory lapsing as she thought of her first failures, and how Fate was going to force her to repeat that nightmare again, and how she was just Fate’s latest puppet.

She vacantly stared at the dark crimson flowing from Moony’s body, oblivious to the panicked shouts in the background, and nearly jumped with her sudden epiphany. She transformed into her phoenix animagus, her black feathers swirling around her, making her disoriented in her haste. She flew over to the wolf, trying to find any part of her that had tears left to shed. Hermione thought back to her failures, the friends who had died because of her, the pained screams and howls of her tortured allies, and the shrieks of the enemies she tortured in turn. She conjured any memory of death, of pain, of heartbreak that was caused by her own reckless and ruthless actions. She sobbed, knowing she was a failure, knowing it was all her fault. The memories came easy, Death’s presence providing a comforting pain that she had been forced to endure for as long as she could remember. The tears began to drift down her face, falling onto Moony’s bloodied body. 

Hermione watched as the wound sealed itself, and Remus’ chest began to move once again, the blood flow pausing, matting the fur and congealing in a revolting way that she was all too familiar with. She looked into Death’s black, distant eyes, and they nodded, before fading away back to their realm. They were gone for a moment before she sprung to her feet, realizing that she had not asked about any of Fate’s plans or why she was there.

Hermione picked up her silver knife with a sigh, gazing at the blade, coated in black, poisoned blood. She felt a stab of guilt in her gut, quickly using her magic to cleanse it of the blood, but the sickly, poisoned air still remained. 

She turned to see the confused and dazed faces of the other three Marauders, their wands pointed at her face. 

“Who are you?” Sirius growled, trying to appear intimidating, although he looked quite terrified of her. When fighting the Death Eaters, Hermione had been proud of her ability to inspire fear in others, especially when she was threatening enough to virtually freeze her enemies in their tracks, but now it just provided her with a sense of melancholy. 

“I told you,” she whispered, “I am Hermione Thomas.” She could hardly resist the urge to laugh. She had blown her cover in less than a day. Hermione wasn’t even sure as to why she tried to go undercover, as Fate just loved to screw with her plans. 

Hermione watched a stunning spell head towards her, and glanced at it impassively as the spell hit her. The magic behind it was not very powerful, and held an aura of fear. Her magic easily repelled it, able to gather the fragments of James’ spell, holding the wispy red remains in her palm. 

“No wonder everyone died,” she muttered to herself, “this magic is quite weak.” Her statement left an incredulous look on James’ face, and she sensed fear and confusion rippling through the trio in front of her.

“W-what do you mean?” asked Pettigrew, his voice wavering. 

“Ah, Wormtail. Just as cowardly and revolting as always.” Hermione spat. She had already showed them her animagus form, it wasn’t as though she could really do any more harm. And besides, if necessary, she could always obliviate the Marauders, though she was reluctant to do so after obliviating her parents in her fourth year. She allowed her glamour to flicker, briefly dropping her guise and appearing in her battle gear.

The group fell back in shock, but she had eyes only for Pettigrew, forcing him to look into her eyes, his own widening as he trembled with fear at the predatory smile on her face. “To answer your question, Wormtail, I am your worst nightmare.” She hissed, watching his skin grow pale as the color leaked from his face. 

She subtly focused her magic on Moony, letting it encompass him and enter his wound, aiding her phoenix tears in healing him completely. After making sure that it wouldn’t scar, she began to walk away, before lifting her hand toward the terrified Marauders. A green light shot out of her hand, and she focused her magic on eliminating their memories of the night. As far as they knew, they had experienced a normal full moon, keeping Moony safe from himself. Hermione left them all with a subconscious fear of her, hoping to keep them from interacting with her in the future. It had taken a toll on her emotions to be forced to talk to them, and she felt on the verge of breaking after being reminded of all she had lost. 

But they were Gryffindors, and wouldn’t stay away for long. She knew she had to work on maintaining her cover, despite it not being her strongsuit. She couldn’t keep slipping up, or disaster would strike. For the first time in quite a while, Hermione had no plan. She had never particularly relied on trickery and to this level, ordinarily invisibly striking her opponents or facing them on the battlefield afore razing her enemies. Never before had she been forced into such a situation as this, needing to figure out who needed to be killed, and who could be saved. Those worth saving had perished closer to the start of the war, as any who doubted their loyalties to Voldemort would be killed. She normally knew who her enemies were. She needed to maintain constant vigilance again, following Moody’s philosophy. Her magic could not protect her from blurred loyalties and the unknown. 

Hermione began to head towards the Room of Requirement. She knew what she needed to do. 

Unbeknownst to her, she was being watched. The dark figure left the area to report to their master, having identified a possible ally.


End file.
